Expat
by Wayward Pug
Summary: A couple months after Henry McCoy leaves the X-Men to join S.W.O.R.D., a conspiracy threatens the safety of the galaxy as well as the stability of his relationship with Agent Abigail Brand. **Expat will be finished eventually, but not right away.**


Welcome to Expat, the loose sequel to my previous Brand/Beast fanfic Gravity, which you can find under my profile. This takes place a few months after Henry McCoy leaves the X-Men for S.W.O.R.D. I would recommend reading Gravity before reading this, but it's not required--however, a few themes carry over. Comments are highly appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

They trudged from the shuttle door, battle-worn but triumphant. At the head of their group strode Abigail Brand, whose exhaustion was hidden behind the sheen of green glasses. She was met in the shuttle bay by the usual cluster of people needing her attention. "Clear a communications line and contact the Andrian general," she barked. "I want him on the bridge screens by the time I get there."

"We still have the high priest in the Peak hold," Henry McCoy reminded her. "If he doesn't get back to his people when this is all over, we may have some diplomatic problems with his sect in the future."

"We do already," said Sydren, bringing up the rear with the dragon Lockheed. "The Commander threatened to ssshoot him, remember?"

"She does that to everyone," Henry reasoned. "Perhaps if we explain, he will take it a little less personally."

The general waited grimly on the bridge communications screen. S.W.O.R.D. agents scattered when the group approached. "You interrupt me at the worst of times, Brand."

"Let me guess—planning your invasion?" She crossed her arms, ever confident. "Things would be a lot worse if I contacted you after it went off."

"You know my reasons," the general replied. "The sect holds a valuable artifact that—"

"You're wrong," she interrupted.

The general raised an eyebrow. "You have some gall, to cut me off and say such a thing. If my king had not signed a treaty with your people, I would—"

"Your king is wrong, too."

"You dare?!"

She nodded to Henry. "Hank? Care to explain?"

He stepped forward, holding up a silver trinket. It shone brightly, as if it had an inner light source. "I believe this is the artifact you were intending to start your war over?"

The general's eyes widened. "Where did you get that!"

"We just returned from a rather difficult mission to retrieve it." Henry studied the engravings as he spoke, showing ancient people bowing down to a brightly shining star. "As it turns out, the invaluable item I have in my hand is but one of many." Seeing the general's confusion, he continued. "When we visited the temple you threatened to destroy, I discovered a series of closely-guarded texts. With the proper translation, they revealed that the real meteor metal relics you're searching for feature not a star from the Centuri system as is shown on this piece here, but a binary star system from Sirius." He threw the metal on the control panel beneath the screen. "This is worthless. The sect has been manufacturing fake artifacts from your ancient kingdom for years, to generate popularity and attract followers."

The general frowned. "Then where is the real artifact?"

"Think hard, General. Where have you seen a double-star featured on metal engravings before?"

The general's expression changed as he came to a realization. "The royal museum!"

He nodded. "Yes! You've had your precious relic all along! Doing a few simple tests will prove its authenticity and prevent what might have been a bloody war."

The general clapped a hand to his forehead. "This changes everything! I will alert my people immediately!"

Brand stepped to the front again. "If you feel like thanking us for all our hard work, a generous donation to the S.W.O.R.D. budget wouldn't go unnoticed."

"I will suggest it to my king." The general bowed deeply and shut off his communicator.

Brand punched up a new communications line, one that ran inside the Peak. "Open the hold and let out the Andrian high priest. He's free to go. But tell him if he ever messes with S.W.O.R.D. again, I'll make good on my threat to shoot him." When her orders were confirmed, she turned on her heel to face her team. "Good work, people. Take twelve hours to recover. If anything comes up, I'll message your communicators." She waved her hands, shooing them. "So get the hell out of here! I don't want to see you anywhere work-related on this station until I say so."

Sydren and Lockheed left immediately, leaving Abigail and Henry to themselves. Henry let out a deep breath, sagging his body as he released it. "I need to lie down."

She took off her glasses so he could see her raise an inquisitive eyebrow. "I didn't know your catness extended to taking naps." Leading him in the directions of the Peak dormitories, she smirked. "Should I get a lamp installed so you can curl up under a sunbeam?"

He shook his head. "I don't nap. I don't even sleep the full night—you know that. However, having a several hundred pound statue dropped on me by a sect believer does cause some aches and pains."

"Poor baby." He couldn't tell whether she was being sarcastic. She punched in the code to open their room's door and entered. "Take off that uniform and get on the bed."

"Aren't you demanding," he said drily.

"Not like that," she snorted, sitting on the bed and kicking off her boots and kneepads. "It was dropped on your back, right? You need a massage."

"Oh!" The uniform was off in an instant. "In that case…." He collapsed on the bed, making her bounce where she sat. "By all means."

"Good boy." Once she took off her gloves and shoulder pads, she crawled over to where he lay and straddled his back. He could feel her temperature rise as she heated her hands. When they were just right, she sunk them into his blue fur. "Where does it hurt?"

"Between my shoulderbl—" He groaned before he could finish the word as her hands probed the area. The heat felt good, melting away his pain. "Ah. Right there."

"Right here?" She rubbed a spot between his vertebrae, eliciting another groan. "Tell me if I'm going too hard."

"Actually…." He paused to relish the feel of her hands on him. "You could go a little harder."

"Like this?"

He closed his eyes, swimming in ecstasy as she rubbed him. "I love you."

"I know."

He opened one eye to look at her. "Say it back."

She concentrated on what she was doing. "You know how I feel."

"Yes, but I would appreciate hearing it more than once in a blue moon." His concentration broke as she found a new sore spot. "Mmm. That feels good—no, great."

"It's just…." She sighed. "You gotta trust me when I say I have my reasons to not talk about it a lot like you do." Her hands moved to a different area. "I'm trying to be better about it, but I need time."

Henry rolled over and pulled her onto the bed next to him. "Then perhaps it would be best to start improving immediately and say it now."

She squirmed in his grip. "Hank, no."

"Please?"

She pushed his hands away and sat up. "Stop asking! I'll say it when I'm good and ready."

"It's been months, and you've only been good and ready three times." He reached out to touch her, but she moved away. "I like hearing it. It shows you care."

"You think I don't care?" She stood up. "I treat you better than anyone on this station! You're my number two! Would I let anyone else into my quarters?"

"Our quarters."

"Do I even listen to anyone else? I don't do half the things for them that I do for you!"

He got up quickly, raising his hands out to her. She backed away. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Abby. This is just something we need to work on."

"I'm not working on it?!" she snapped, striding across the room. "You know what I picked up for you, the last time you couldn't come on a mission?" She opened their shared bureau and threw a gold visor to him.

He caught it and handled it delicately, looking at it from all sides. The visor had eyeholes on the inside but not the outside, and a golden disc at each end. "What is this?" he asked, all complaints forgotten.

"It's a Kree sensory symphony, that's what it is! Most popular artform in the galaxy!" She jammed the boots back onto her feet. "I had a guy record it special, just for you! Because I knew you'd like it!"

Henry was amazed. "That's marvelous! I didn't think—"

"No," she snarled, jabbing a finger into his chest, "You didn't think! Maybe if you had, you'd notice that I'm doing everything I can to be the best damn girlfriend I can be, all for you!" She threw her hands in the air. "But it's not enough!"

"Abby—"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it!" She stomped to the door. "I know I don't measure up to those shrinking violets you had to rescue all the time, Mister X-Man, but that doesn't mean I'm not trying hard." She opened the door.

He knew stopping her was impossible, so he settled for second best. "Where are you going?"

"The firing range! If you value your life, you won't follow me."

"Will you be back for dinner?"

"Don't know yet."

"I'll have something nice waiting for you."

"Whatever."

The door slid closed, leaving Henry alone. He sighed, going through the possibilities of how to improve Abigail's mood when she returned. The firing range would help her blow off steam, but he needed something more. She pretended to hate his sillier romantic gestures, but the attention made her glow. His eyes slid from the visor to the control panel next to the door as he considered how to make it up to her. Retrieving a pocketknife from a pair of discarded pants, Henry unscrewed the casing on the control panel and studied the wiring. He had an idea.

She came back sooner than he expected, but not so soon that he wasn't ready. It was true that he hadn't yet retrieved the dinner he intended to bring back to the room, and his messy rewiring job was still out in the open instead of back behind its casing, but for the most part he was finished.

She looked around at the room. "What is this?"

He didn't look up from his last bit of soldering. "Hello again, Abby. It's lovely to have you back."

She squinted, going through different explanations for the wires that exploded from every port. "Are you… trying to get revenge on me for being mad by making our room inoperable? Cause that messes things up for you, too." Her face blanched as she considered a second option. "Unless you're moving out."

He smiled at her worry. "Quite the opposite. I am making our room—which I fully intend on sharing with you for a long time to come—even better." He sniffed the air. "Where were you? You didn't go to the firing range."

She sat on the bed, watching him work. "How did you know?"

He joined her, job finished. "Aside from the fact that you don't smell of gunpowder or the stabilizing chemicals they use for your more advanced laser guns…." He rubbed his thumb on a dirty spot on her cheek. "You're wearing some axle grease."

"Oh." She crossed her eyes to try and see the grease better. He wiped it off for her. "I was on my way to the range, but I got distracted."

"By what?"

"That's classified." She gestured to the hanging wires. "What did you do to this place?"

He beamed. "I was hoping you would ask." Plumping the pillows at the head of the bed, he set them on their ends to rest against the headboard. "Sit here."

She did as he said, looking around the room with suspicion. Her gaze fell on the bureau and her expression changed to one of horror. "What the hell did you do to the sensory symphony visor? Do you know what I had to go through to get that recorded?"

She moved to stand up and he pushed her back into the pillows. "Calm down, I—"

She slapped a palm to her forehead. "No, I get it. You destroyed it because you were mad. I can't blame you for that."

"If you give me a moment to explain—"

She sat heavily on the bed, elbows on her knees. "You're pissed. I hurt you, so you're hurting me back. There's nothing to explain." Henry rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to get a word in edgewise, and Abigail seemed set on working herself into a depression. He let her continue on as he headed to the room control panels and hit a button. An abstract hologram unfolded itself out of nowhere in the middle of the room and her anger trailed off, giving way to amazement. A trill of unearthly instruments echoed from one side of the room to the other. "This is…."

Henry settled onto the bed next to her. "The sensory symphony." He put his hand on her leg. "It seemed a waste to experience it without you. I did a little rewiring so we can both enjoy it, any time we wanted."

She watched the holograms in wonder. "I overreacted."

He pulled her closer to him. "Yes, you did. What has you so tense?" She shifted her weight uncomfortably, biding her time. "Abby," he chided, "didn't we agree that it would be better for both of us if you were to be upfront about what you're not telling me?"

She sighed. "Intel says a minor fleet's going to attack us within the week. It's not a problem to dispatch a team and take care of it, but ever since the last Peak got blown up… I get nervous."

He put an arm around her, pulling her against him. "You never told me. You've been bottling up your stress this whole time?" She put her head on his shoulder and nodded. He kissed the top of her head. "Poor thing. Why don't you remove your uniform, get a little more comfortable."

Interest flashed in her eyes. "Wow. I knew this sensory symphony was supposed to be erotic, but I didn't think it'd work so fast."

Henry cocked his head. "You gave me this recording to get me into bed? Suddenly your selfless acquisition of my gift seems a lot less sweet."

She put her arms around his neck. "Don't knock it if it works!"

"I was asking you to remove your clothes so I could…." He was forced to stop speaking when she kissed him. "…Give you a massage! It looked like I wasn't the only one that needed…." She kissed him again. When they pulled apart, he shook a finger at her. "You could at least pretend to care about what I have to say."

She buried her face in his neck. "You're more fun when you're annoyed at me."

"Then should I take every act of outward heartlessness to mean you're just trying to rile me?" Waves of color and sound washed over them and he tried to resist its meaning a little longer. If he gave in to her right away, she wouldn't get the point he was trying to make.

"I'm not heartless," she said against his throat. "I've got a heart. Yours."

She made it hard to resist, and Henry watched himself backslide out of self-righteousness and give in. His hands met on the small of her back and traveled lower. "And where do you intend on keeping my heart?"

"In an iron box I'll keep on my desk and open whenever I feel like looking at it."

"Is the box sturdy enough to keep it from breaking?"

She shrugged against him. "If that doesn't work, there's always duct tape."

"To fix it up after you've so callously shattered it?"

"No, to reinforce it so it never breaks in the first place."

"You charmer."

"You—" The shrill of Henry's ringtone interrupted Abigail before she could get any further. "Should you get that?"

He sighed and reached into his pocket. "I suppose so. One never knows when it might be an intergalactic matter of urgency." He put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hank."

"Scott." Henry's tone was strained. "I, er, didn't expect to hear from you. And, to put it lightly, I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"I'm on an hour downtime between my last mission and my next. The next time I could possibly call you back would be in about a week. After we investigate these rumors of new Sentinels. And stop a war. And—"

"I get it." Henry sat up against the headboard and Abigail gave him a questioning look. He pointed to the phone and mouthed the caller's name. She rolled her eyes and picked up a book off the side table. "So tell me, to what do I owe the delightful awkwardness that permeates this call?"

"Is Brand there?"

"Yes. Abigail and I are on the bed. Together. Because you interrupted us. Which I do not appreciate."

"Can you find somewhere a little more private?"

He pulled at the fur on his forehead. "I am in my bedroom! This is as private as it gets!"

"You know what I mean."

He sighed through his nose. "I'll set up a communications room." Henry flipped his phone closed, standing up and readjusting his clothes so they were in order. "Dearest, I have to go listen to Scott fumble around while he tries to properly figure out how to ask me to return to the X-Men."

Abigail scowled. "That Summers always knows when to interrupt things." She turned her attention back to the book, licking her thumb and turning a page.

He smiled down at her. "I'll be back soon."

"I'll be waiting."

Henry checked himself in a reflection on the Peak windows before punching Scott Summers's information into the holographic screens in one of the smaller, one-person communications rooms. Calculating the claustrophobic dimensions of the room while waiting for Scott to respond, he realized it matched size of a public bathroom stall, and was nearly as dirty. The comparison didn't comfort him.

Scott's face flickered onto the screen, protruding from the neck of his uniform. Henry sometimes wondered how much Emma had to bribe him to take the uniform off in favor of more casual clothes, or any clothes at all. He occasionally encountered the same trouble with Abigail. "Hank. Glad you got back to me. I wasn't sure you'd return my call."

Henry scratched his chin. "A blow to my perceived dependability in your first breath? Be careful of the next words you say to me, or I might suspect you're trying to put me on the defensive."

Scott held up his hands. "It's not—I didn't mean anything like that. This is just a little… weird for me."

Henry caught a glimpse of a two-headed alien through a window. "Can't imagine why."

"You've lived with the X-Men—wherever we've gone, come Hell or high water—since the end of high school, Hank. Any time I've needed to talk to you, I could find you a couple doors down." Scott put a hand to the back of his head, his mirrored lenses downcast.

"We've worked on separate teams before. I've been with the Avengers and that didn't bother you."

A muscle in Scott's jaw twitched. "They were your team, but they always came second to your friends."

"My team, my work, my needs… they will always come second to the people I care about, Scotty. But you have to accept that I have room in my heart for a lot of people, not just you."

Scott gave a frustrated sigh. "Emma says we need a scientist."

"If Emma was the only one who wanted me back, I'd be a little disappointed. But I made my decision." He opened his hands. "Think of it as a sabbatical. You wouldn't begrudge me one of those. And to tell the truth, I am focusing more on my work than ever before. With a library of information on alien biochemistry and the team of scientists Abigail gave me, I'm making breakthroughs at a speed like never before. Why, within the year—"

"Hank, Emma said you chose S.W.O.R.D. over the X-Men because of Brand."

Henry caught his breath. He expected the other shoe to drop sooner or later, but had hoped it wouldn't be about this. "Well," he said slowly, "there are degrees to which that statement could be considered true, but there are nuances that… under the circumstances…." He sighed. "It's complicated."

Scott's eyebrows raised, half pleading. "Did you? Did you choose her over us?"

Henry gave it some thought. "Do you want the answer that will make you happy, or the truth?"

"Just tell me."

"I chose her…" he hesitated, seeing Scott lean closer to the camera on his side, anxious for answers, "…over you. Not the team." He waited for a reaction to register on Scott's face. "When I don't like a decision Abigail makes," he continued, getting quiet, "I can reason with her. If she's being too ruthless, I tell her so and we work on coming up with a different approach. But you don't listen to me anymore. You don't compromise with anyone but Emma." Scott's mouth opened, his eyebrows furrowing behind his glasses. But he had nothing to say. Henry lowered his head. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, but I could see no other option."

Scott shook his head, trying to make sense of it. "Emma says—"

"Don't hide behind Emma. Can't you just tell me what you think?"

He adjusted his glasses, trying as hard as he could to look stoic. "I think that woman's bad for you."

"I appreciate your concern, but I assure you she's not."

"You wanted to hear my opinion, right? Well, I'd be a bad friend if I didn't warn you about her."

"What, does she have a reputation for kissing aliens in the schoolyard? You know so little about each other, I think you'd come to like one another if only you gave it a chance. Abigail and I are very happy together, and we love each other. She may not be willing to articulate it as such, but—"

Scott was aghast. "She doesn't love you?"

Henry's stomach sank, realizing he said too much. "She does! She just has a difficult time saying it."

"How can you be sure?"

"She has a way of… when you know her as well as I do…." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Just take my word for it."

Scott put his face close to the screen. "Henry, she's controlling you. She's already made you leave your friends. What else is she going to do?"

Anger welled in Henry, along with the tiniest sliver of doubt. She liked to give orders, but controlling? He pushed the thought away with disgust. But it remained, festering at the back of his mind. "How dare you say such a thing about the woman I love."

Scott sighed. "I know you hate me for saying it, but I had to tell you. Warn you, so you can see it yourself. You're lovesick, so of course you're going to be outraged. But… think about it this way. If she wasn't the only woman on the planet who's interested in you, would you care about her so much?"

Henry struggled to keep his cool. "I don't think I caught your implication, but that last part sounded rather insulting." He counted to ten in his head as Scott spoke, but the fury was there and bent on exploding at something—anything.

"I didn't mean it like that. You'd been lonely for a while though, and then along came a woman with no redeeming features but who was the first person in a long time who wanted to get together. Do you love her because logically she's the best choice for you? How much of her faults will you forgive just because she gives you the time of day?"

Henry's fist swung out and connected with the wall, making the whole room tremble. "Listen," he snapped, "I have tried being civil, I really have. But you are working hard to do anything within your power to rile me, and I do not appreciate it!"

"No, I understand. If anyone said that kind of thing about Emma I'd send a forcebeam their way. But think about it, okay?"

Henry fumbled for words, his vision clouding in favor of the color red. He settled on something that sounded more like Abigail than him. "S… screw you!" He pounded his finger on the end call button and put his head in his hands. Scott was going to make him choose, eventually. He could trace the path of logic as clearly as seeing it. Breaking them up would become a holy mission to Scott, and worse, a self-righteous one. Mutants were excellent at being self-righteous when they felt like it, and Scott had perfected it to an artform. Of course, he would be as chivalrous as possible in his attempts to tear them apart, and never underhanded. But he would keep lecturing Henry until he got what he wanted. Dread swept over him and he folded his arms on the communications desk, putting his head down. His thoughts kept going back to each complaint against Abigail and what might prompt Scott to say such things. He tried to see it from Scott's point of view, but never compared it to the reality of the relationship. He refused to let himself doubt, but the nagging curiosity remained. He loved her and she loved him back, he assured himself.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a gloved hand knocked on the door. Brand put her face close to the glass, searching for him behind her green glasses. He picked his head up and gestured for her to enter. She caught the meaning his expression immediately. "Chat went sour?"

"About as sour as it could get," he said, putting a hand to the bridge of his nose. "My dear friend won't rest until the two of us are torn asunder."

She motioned for Henry to follow her outside, walking as they talked. "That sucks."

"You're taking it so well. Aren't you the least bit worried?"

They entered the shuttle bay. Several sets of crewmembers were preparing to launch. "Not really. I've got my claws sunk pretty deep into you."

Henry looked around at the people loading into the bay. "I see. What's going on here?"

They came to a stop in front of a two-man fighter ship. Brand put her hand against the hull. "You know that fleet I said was planning to attack us? They chose today to do it." The hull door slid open and she got in, settling herself on the side that controlled the weapons systems. "You coming?"

"Undoubtedly," he replied, getting in after her. He put his hands on the navigation controls, getting settled. A few touches to the main system screens and the ship roared to life. "As my former students might say, let's rock and roll."

The bay doors opened, the vacuum drawing ready ships into the void. Brand gave him a skeptical look. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't say that."

Henry steered them in the direction of the oncoming fleet, joining the other fighter ships in formation. The enemy ships twinkled in the distance. "Then what about the exclamation that we should kick some alien butt?"

Brand nodded, going over the weapons systems. "That's acceptable."

He grinned. "Good. Give me a kiss for luck?"

She smirked. "Keep dreaming, Romeo. We're on the clock—you know how that works."

"Fine," he said, smiling as he patched them into the communications channel between the fighter ships. "But when this is all over, you owe me."

The glints of light that were the fleet grew in the distance. Brand undid the safety locks on the weapons systems and leaned forward, hands tight around the controls. "We'll see about that."


End file.
